Esther's Story: Recon Marine (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 2)

by Jonathan Brazee

  “So you did?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Since we weren’t doing anything else, I decided to see what I could do to fix that.”

  A couple of things became clear. First, there was no POD for today. He’d just let it slip that there was nothing else to do. Second, Sergeant Ngcobo was one of those NCOs who saw a problem, then fixed it. Which was normally good, but could turn around and bite her in the ass. A single V106 ran into the hundreds of credits. If the sergeant had done something illegal—or to be more accurate, something that was illegal and could be traced back to him—both he and she would be in trouble. She ached to ask him just how he’d managed to score a full pack of the batteries, but having been a sergeant herself, she knew that was something that as a lieutenant, she was supposed to ignore. She had to trust the sergeant to have acquired the vix in a way that wouldn’t get anyone in trouble.

  As a sergeant, she had been pretty much in direct control of both her squad and herself. As a lieutenant, she suddenly realized that she had lost a bit of that direct control. She had to rely on others and focus on the bigger picture. She wasn’t sure she liked that.

  “I haven’t downloaded the platoon contacts yet,” she said.

  I can’t believe the company clerk wouldn’t do that until after I meet the skipper, she thought, eyebrows furrowing. Like the skipper’s going to deny me that?

  “. . . so can you call up the staff sergeant and tell him to meet me here?” she asked Sergeant Ngcobo.

  “Uh, sure, ma’am. Only, sometimes he doesn’t respond, like, uh, like if he’s in the gym,” he said.

  What the hell is going on here?

  “Lieutenant Lysander?” a voice called out from the hatch, forestalling Esther from ordering the sergeant to make the call.

  Esther turned to see a Marine in PT gear poking half her body into the office, her hair cut in the high-and-tight.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Esther said, frowning ever-so-slightly.

  “I’m Ter Opal,” the Marine said, entering the office, hand outstretched.

  “Oh, the XO. Hi. I’m Esther,” she said, taking the hand.

  Esther had seen the XO’s name on the roster, but “Ter” was normally a man’s name, so she had expected a male Marine in the billet.

  “Hey, Charlie. How’re you holding out?” she said to the sergeant, hand still clasped in Esther’s.

  “Still kicking, ma’am. You know me.”

  “Yes, I know you, much to my chagrin. What’s that? The vix you’ve been trying to get?”

  “I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. Vix? Supply assures us we have what we need.”

  “Right,” the XO said before turning back to Esther and finally dropping her hand.

  “Charlie here, he’s your go-to guy to get stuff done, even if you can’t trust him farther than you can throw him,” she told Esther

  “Ma’am, you wound me!” the sergeant said, theatrically rolling his eyes. “I’ve only taken your guidance in all things.”

  “Yeah, right, Sergeant Never-Say-No. Why don’t you bug out now and let me welcome in your new platoon commander. You know, secret officer stuff.”

  Sergeant Ngcobo came to attention and shouted out in his best boot camp voice, “Ma’am, yes ma’am,” before performing an about face and double-timing out of the office.

  Esther was floored. There was an obvious affection between the XO and her First Squad leader, but she’d never seen such, well, jovial familiarity between an officer and an enlisted Marine.

  Her father’s most trusted, well friend, had been Gunny, now Sergeant Major Hans Çağlar. But in all the time Esther had seen them together, there had been a degree of professional decorum. Esther knew that her father loved the sergeant major like a son, but she’d never seen joking between them like what she’d just witnessed.

  The XO must have seen the astonished look on her face because she said, “Charlie’s worth his weight in gold. He keeps the ship afloat.”

  “What about Staff Sergeant Fortuna?”

  “Ah, yes. Fortuna. Well, I think you need to discover that for yourself, Esther.”

  What the hell?

  “He’s, well, let’s say he’s got a few issues going on. He still gets therapy twice a month.”

  “I didn’t see that he’s been wounded.”

  “Not that kind of therapy.”

  It took a moment to realize what the XO was saying.

  “Oh.”

  If her platoon sergeant had some sort of psychological issue, she didn’t know what he was doing in a line platoon. It couldn’t be something too serious if he was still cleared for full duty, though.

  “Anyway, Corporal Anthony told me you’d arrived, so I wanted to say hello. The platoon’s been without a commander for three weeks, and that’s three weeks too long.

  That’s not a stunning endorsement of my platoon sergeant.

  “I wanted to go back to the platoon, but the skipper nixed that since we knew you were inbound. I miss it, though,” she said. “Spent two years with the platoon before Axes arrived and squeezed me up to XO.”

  “So what happened to the previous commander? The battalion CO said something about a shortened tour for him?”

  “Well, yeah, if you consider four months as ‘shortened.’ He was pulled off-planet.”

  There was a note of finality in her voice that Esther didn’t want to confront. She’d find out later what happened to her predecessor.

  “Well, since you were here only five months ago, maybe you can give me a run-down on the platoon since I can’t get a hold of my platoon sergeant?”

  “Just call him,” the XO said, her eyes drawn together in confusion.

  “Can’t. Your clerk wouldn’t release the roster to me until after I met the skipper.”

  “Fucking Anthony. Sounds like that mealy pencil-pusher. I’ll take care of that. But come to think of it, maybe it’s better if we chat, first. I’m on the way back to the Q[5] to shower and change. Why don’t you come with me? We’ll talk, then go to chow. Captain Hoffman should be back by 1500, so we can meet up with him then.”

  The XO was a little different than most Marines, a little unorthodox, Esther got the feeling. And Esther didn’t normally like unorthodox. She couldn’t control unorthodox. She couldn’t foresee unorthodox. But for reasons unknown, she kind of liked Ter Opal. And it made sense that she get the platoon gouge from her perspective.

  “Sounds good to me, Ter,” she said, subconsciously switching the woman from a simple billet to a fellow Marine. “Lead on.”

  Chapter 4

  A cold front had swept in from the high plains overnight, and Esther blew on her hands. She hadn’t drawn her kit from supply yet, so she didn’t have cold weather gear. The entire company was slated for their annual survivors benefit brief right after formation, so she wouldn’t have a chance to draw her gear until COB unless she skipped noon chow.

  Oh, well, hopefully it’ll warm up.

  Derrick Ganbataar, “Steel,” was the only other lieutenant who wasn’t wearing gloves. He stood easily, as if on a tropical beach somewhere. Esther thought it had to be mostly for show. She met Steel at the O-Club the night before, when the skipper organized an impromptu officer’s call to welcome Esther aboard. Whip-cord rangy and with blonde hair, he didn’t look like the Old Earth Mongolian he claimed to be. Esther suspected he was freezing, but was trying to uphold some sort of macho-Mongolian image, impervious to the cold.

  With the first sergeant in front of the company passing the word, the five lieutenants were huddled in back of Second Platoon, waiting until the formation was dismissed so they could make their way into the classroom—and blessed warmth.

  Nok Garrison looked rather worse for wear this morning. The Third Platoon commander had tied one on at the club and had either neglected to take a Soberup last night, or she was even too far gone for it to be effective.

  Heck, she only weighs about 40 kilos, so it didn’t take too many brews, and then there were
the shots, Esther noted, feeling a touch of sympathy for the smaller woman.

  Esther hadn’t gotten too deep into her cups, so she hadn’t taken a Soberup before hitting the rack, but the sour taste in her mouth was a reminder on why she didn’t drink much. One beer or cider was fine, but the athlete in her didn’t like not being in full control over her body.

  “Heads up, the skipper’s coming,” Ter said, breaking into her thoughts.

  Coming down the walk from battalion, Captain Hoffman was heading right for the first sergeant. The four platoon commanders scrambled to position themselves a step behind and to the right of their last squad or section leader. The first sergeant noticed the company commander and called the company to attention before performing an about face to wait. Captain Hoffman went right up to him, received the first sergeant’s report, and took over the formation. Immediately, the four platoon commanders marched forward to take his or her place in front of his or her respective platoons, the platoon sergeants simultaneously marching to the back of each platoon.

  “Kilo Company, good morning!” the captain shouted out.

  He received a loud chorus of “ooh-rahs.”

  Esther hadn’t quite pegged the skipper yet, but it was evident that he was pretty popular within the company. “Popular” didn’t always equate to being a good commander, but it didn’t preclude it, either, so Esther was going to withhold judgment.

  “As I promised to you when I took command of the company, I will always keep you informed when I can. So now is one of those times. I just returned from a meeting with the CO. A situation has come up, and like always, when that happens, the Federation looks to us. So it looks like we could be deployed. We’ve received a warning order, and now we’re just waiting to see if they’re going to pull the trigger.

  “Nothing has changed for the moment, though. We’ve still got our survivors benefit annual certification, and that’s what we’re going to do. However, commencing immediately, we are confined to base, and each Marine and sailor must sign out before leaving the battalion area.

  “Staff and officers, I want you to get your certificates retinized first, then meet me in the conference room. For the rest of you, carry on the training schedule, but if you’re missing anything for whatever reason, let your platoon sergeants know.

  “That’s all I know for now, but rest assured I’ll keep you updated as soon as I get any more word.

  “First Sergeant!” he shouted out.

  The first sergeant marched to position himself in front of the skipper and received the company back. Esther, along with the other platoon commanders, left their post to be replaced with the platoon sergeants.

  Esther’s mind was awhirl. Upon reaching 2/16 as a PFC, Esther had rushed through her gear and weapons issue and was deployed on a mission within hours. Before even getting to know her fire team. Now, upon reporting to 3/14, she might be in the same boat. She hadn’t even spoken with her platoon sergeant other than to shake his hand before formation, she had only met one of her sergeants, and she hadn’t drawn her gear, yet here she was again, possibly going into the breach.

  And her heart sang.

  FS Sergei Dillon

  Chapter 5

  The company never finished its survivors benefit brief. The staff and officers had just gotten their forms retinized, looking into the retinal scanners that confirmed they were who they said they were and were leaving for their brief when a runner came from Battalion to fetch the skipper. The fact that it was a runner and not a simple call held significance. Esther joined the others and sat back down in the back of the auditorium while the admin chief continued his brief. All hands had seen the runner come get Captain Hoffman, and no one’s mind was on who gets what in the case of their demise. Even the admin chief was wandering, losing his train of thought.

  Twenty minutes later, the XO received a call. She nodded as she listened while 145 eyes were locked on her, all pretense of a brief forgotten.

  “First Sergeant,” she said when she was finished, “the brief is over. Get everyone back to the company area. We fall out in full Series 2 at 1400.”

  Series 2 meant full battle issue, with gear for 60 days. Only Series 1 was further along the scale.

  A chorus of “ooh-rahs” echoed through the auditorium as Marines stood and platoon sergeants took over.

  “We’ve got a brief in the conference room,” Ter told the other lieutenants and the gunny. “I’ll tell the first sergeant.”

  Frigging great. We’re deploying, and I’ve got jack.

  That wasn’t exactly true. Esther had her uniforms and her bones, but not much else.

  “Ter, I don’t have my gear yet,” Esther told her. “Am I going to have time for that?”

  The XO hesitated only for a moment, then told her she’d cover for her at the brief. She had to draw her gear and weapons.

  Eight hours later, the detachment, consisting of Echo and Golf companies and sections from Weapons Company, armor and arty battalions, and a modified squadron were on board the Dillon, heading off-planet. The battalion XO, Major Postern, was the task force commander.

  The Marines received their first major brief as the ship maneuvered to enter bubble space. Brigadier General Costelano, the division assistant commander, gave the brief from back at his headquarters on Cornucopia.

  The Evolution was a watershed in Federation history, where an oppressive regime more concerned with power than serving the people had been replaced. The turmoil, however, had resulted in 18 entire planets and 5 nations leaving the Federation (to include Ellison, which Esther’s father had saved from annihilation, a lack of gratitude that still stuck in her craw). A few had become independent, others had joined existing governments such as the Confederation of Free States or the Brotherhood. At the time, the Federation wasn’t in much of a position to do anything about it.

  The process of leaving the Federation continued, though. Not all local governments moved quickly, and with the Federation back on its feet, it was taking action to influence local politics.

  Nouvelle Bretagne was one of those planets where the wheels of politics moved slowly. Over half of the residents had emigrated from Indéfectibles with most of the rest being refugees of the Great Drought in Earth’s Australia. Indéfectibles was one of the worlds that had pulled out of the Federation, re-aligning itself with Greater France. Now, the coming election would determine if Novelle Bretagne would follow suit.

  The campaign had been nasty, with violence breaking out. Greater France, reacting to a riot that had broken out in Charlestown, had sent in two battalions of legionnaires to “keep the peace.” There was already an FCDC battalion on the planet, and while the almost religiously loyal troopers were a good resource to counter the legionnaires, the fact was that they were a cross between a police force and an army and not organized to fight a professional military like the Legion.

  As it had done five times over the last two years, the Federation responded in kind, sending in the Marines. Not a full battalion—for some reason beyond Esther’s comprehension, a full battalion was considered too “militaristic,” tantamount to declaring war. The theory was that the mere presence of Marines would be a deterrent to fighting. In three of the previous five times, this had not been the case. Three Marine task forces had fought pitched battles, one of them losing an entire platoon on Saint Grigori’s Ascension. That seemed like war to Esther, and it certainly must have seemed like that to the families of dead Marines.

  But humankind was in the midst of a war with the Klethos. Things had calmed down into the stylized combat for possession of challenged worlds, but the fear was that as the human gladiators became bigger and better, the Klethos could revert to open warfare, something the humans probably could not win. Couple that with the fact that the Federation was still consolidating again after the Evolution, and war was to be avoided at all costs.

  So when Federation Marines and Confederation troops clashed on Eridani 2, that wasn’t war, but merely an “incident.”
Like the Indians and Pakistanis back on Earth’s 20th and 21st Centuries, like the Pathfinders and Franklites clashes on Royerson over the last 200 years, it wasn’t “war.” While Marines, soldiers, legionnaires, militia, and centurions fought and died, their politicians socialized over canapés at Brussels’ finest restaurants.

  The Federation and Greater France were not going to war, the general had assured them. But the Marines were going to ensure the elections on Novelle Bretagne were fair, and that the citizens (at least those loyal to the Federation) were protected.

  The task force was landing at Corky’s Waystop, which had once been a mere lodge in the Jordy Enclave but had grown to a city of over 4,000,000 after some mineral discoveries in the surrounding mountains. It leaned loyalist, but with such resources, the enclave was a prize. If the planet split up, the Federation wanted to make sure the entire province remained loyal.

  “What do you think?” Esther asked Ter after the feed from the general ended.

  “Five hundred Marines against 480 million people? Not bad odds.”

  No one expected the entire planet to turn on the Marines, but her point was valid. What could 500 Marines do if the entire planet blew up in open warfare? All the Marines, the FCDC, and the legionnaires, for that matter, would be swallowed up by the pure mass of humanity. Esther was cautiously eager to prove herself against the Legion. Her father had actually been awarded the Croix de guerre des théâtres d'opérations extérieurs by Greater France for saving some Legion butts on Tylaria, but he’d also earned his combat leadership chops against the Legion on Weyerhaeuser 23. He had always admired the Legion, but Esther didn’t have the same admiration. Still, it felt fitting to her that she might face them in combat as a leader of Marines.

  “The skipper’s meeting with the major now, and we’re to stand by. We’ve got a lot of shit to do and not much time,” Ter told the other lieutenants.

  “Well, we can stand by in the wardroom. Let’s see if we can’t get the chief to feed us,” Steel suggested. “They’ve always got chow between meals there.”